


Accommodation

by HappinessIsBlau



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Dry Humping, Fail sex, Other, PWP, i cockblocked myself while writing this, not beta read we die like mne, this is completely self-indulgent don't talk to me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:33:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21906031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HappinessIsBlau/pseuds/HappinessIsBlau
Summary: A Mandalorian - that one, the one that always caught your attention, was full sprint running in the alleyway that your front door opened into.
Relationships: The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Reader
Comments: 9
Kudos: 173





	Accommodation

**Author's Note:**

> This is me gently adding this to the pile of Reader/Mandalorian fics but ... y'know, I just can't get behind this suave boy that everyone is talking about. He's a mess. I'm not sorry, don't @ me.
> 
> I'm playing fast and loose with timelines here. Most of my star wars knowledge comes from Clone Wars and Rebels, even though I've seen all the live action movies.

You’d seen him in the marketplace before, of all places. He never stopped at any of the stalls; he was usually going from one place to the next with his ever-increasing Beskar shining in the sun, cape billowing behind him, sauntering in such a self-assured way that it made your heart drop into your stomach. 

You, of course, had seen Mandalorians around before, and some with their helmets off, even. They were generally secretive and sometimes impolite, but you didn’t want to stereotype or categorize. Your mother claimed to have been friends with a Mandalorian while she was involved with the rebellion, but then she had also mentioned knowing retired Clone Troopers, so you figured that your mother just enjoyed telling a good story more than anything.

A crash outside is what pulled you out of the book you had been reading. Old fashioned and quaint, yes, of course, and equally difficult to come by, but what else did you have to spend money on?

You placed your book down carefully and cracked your door open to peek. A Mandalorian - that one, the one that always caught your attention, was full sprint running in the alleyway that your front door opened into. The clattering footsteps behind him, the source not yet visible, allowed you time to open your door wide and motion to him to come in.

He didn’t hesitate. You shut the door quickly behind him and locked it, not that it would do anything if someone had seen him or was determined enough to gain entry. He evaluated your one room flat -- the windows, dusty from outside and high up the wall, could still allow someone to look in if they were determined enough to climb.

Your brain was short circuiting, making decisions on pure instinct. You shut the lamp off that you’d been reading by. Your bed was along the opposite wall.

He was already standing close enough to your bed that you could push him over. He startled and landed on his back with an _oof_. 

“No, no, trust me,” you whispered quickly, moving to straddle his hips -- effectively blocking him from being seen from the waist up. The light that was coming in from the windows changed, as if being blocked from outside - someone was looking in on you. You gulped, hoping that you’d be convincing, as you ground down on his hips, bringing his glove-covered hands to your chest. 

He inhaled quickly, sharply, at your movement, but got the idea. He didn’t move to reveal himself from where your body was blocking him, hoping that the dirt on the outside of your window would be enough of a camouflage as your actions, but lifted his hips to make your performance more believable. 

The friction of his movements against you was ridiculously nice. You hadn’t really realized that he didn’t have any Beskar protecting his crotch -- that seemed like a bad strategic move, actually, but you didn’t say anything. You bit down on your lip and tried to look like you weren’t getting too into it but you’d have given anything to rut against him with more gusto. 

After a moment, whoever was looking in your window left. The light coming through shifted to normality, and you risked a glance over your shoulder to make sure. When you did, your hypothesis was confirmed, and you let out a breath that you didn’t realize you were holding. 

You stopped your movements, but he moved his hands to your hips. 

“Don’t - don’t stop,” he breathed, nearly inaudibly, “please?”

Oh.

Okay.

“Of - of course,” you heard yourself say, choking back a whimper, “but I’ll - I’ll - I’ll fuck you if you want.”

“No, I - no, this - this is good,” he replied back, voice coming through the helmet with that artificial tinge to it, and you realized that this was him separating himself in the way that he felt he had to. 

Maybe the Mandalorians didn’t believe in casual sex? 

Was this the first time anyone had ever -?

It made you feel much less like an embarrassed teenager, at least, when you moaned in earnest, allowing yourself to feel the friction through your pants. The seam slid through your underwear against your clit and the roughness of whatever tough fabric that he was wearing added to the textured pleasantness. You could feel how hard he was under you, and you rolled your hips in a way that you hoped was accommodating, and by the hitch in his breath, it was.

You moved your hands to his shoulders and braced yourself against him, wishing more than anything you could fuck him in earnest, as he dug his fingers almost painfully into your hips, and pulled you closer.

“Oh, Mando,” you whispered against his helmet, kissing it with care. This was something precious to him, and you hoped that treating it as such would please him.

He didn’t reply, so you continued on, hoping that you didn’t soak through your pants, but, well.

“Mando, oh, you’re so - you’re so - every time I see you, I just want -” you couldn’t fully articulate your thoughts, as you ground down against his length, only a few layers of fabric separating your sex from his, and you gulped in air as desperately as you wanted him. You could hear his breathing become increasingly loud because your cheek was pressed against the slowly-warming Beskar of his helmet.

He gasped and stiffened under you, fingers digging even more harshly into your hips, and you could feel the wetness spread throughout his pants. You ground slowly against him as he came, wanting to - wanting to be closer to him, despite being entirely on his lap. You wanted to have him cum inside you, to run your fingers through his hair, to scratch down his back, but instead you had your dull fingernails scratching against the shiny, ungiving surface of his shoulder plates. 

You still hadn’t come but you got off of his lap, slowly, feeling the cold air hit you and realizing how ridiculously wet you were was frustrating and left you feeling empty and unsated. He took a beat and then shifted awkwardly, getting off your bed, and giving you just enough time to press another kiss against his helmet.

“Come back sometime,” you told him, and he didn’t grace you with a reply. Instead, he went out the way he came and you watched him go.


End file.
